


Pick a Star on the Dark Horizon

by wardo_wedidit



Series: But Blessed Was The Daylight [3]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Arguing, Domestic, F/M, Minor Injuries, Slice of Life, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As MJ takes care of a wounded Peter, emotions run high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick a Star on the Dark Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a mini-fic prompt on Tumblr. Title from the Regina Spektor song [The Call](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNsQewlFtEs).

“Ow. _Ow_. Mary Jane, that _hurts!_ ” 

MJ frowns and pinches his arm while she’s at it. Peter yelps again. “ _Mary Jane!_ What was that?”

“Quit being such a baby,” she snaps, unable to tamp down her frustration. “Spoiler alert, I’m pouring hydrogen peroxide into a cut on your chest, Peter, it’s _going to hurt_.”

Peter pouts a little, holding tighter onto the edge of the sink, where he is currently sitting, until his knuckles turn white. The cut bubbles and MJ glares at her boyfriend, dampening a washcloth in the faucet behind him. 

The sudden silence only thickens the already-present tension in the air, and they both feel it. There’s a flush on Peter’s cheeks which MJ _knows_ means he’s embarrassed and feels bad, but it’s not helping her be any less upset at the moment. 

When he had come in through the window leaning heavily against the wall and clutching at his chest, hands red with blood, she had been so angry she couldn’t even see straight. Because she had _told_ him not to go, and he should have _listened_ to her. 

It’s not like she says those kinds of things lightly, okay? She understands the situation and knows that he has a responsibility to protect the city, and she’s not asking him to give that up, but he doesn’t have to do it _alone_. He should trust enough--the police, first responders and all of that, not to mention _her_ \--to believe the city can survive one crisis without him. 

Besides, it’s not like she had been asking him unreasonably. He’d gotten hurt just a two days ago, and hurt _bad._ Definitely one of the top five most worrying injuries yet.The kind where bruises change from red to blue-purple, to green, to yellow, to brown, mottled down his sides in a way that made him wince every time he moved. She’d forced him to spend a straight 24 hours in bed, speedy spider-power healing or not. Peter had even cringed every time he’d rolled over in bed. MJ had brought him soup and given him _complete control_ over the remote (a privilege Peter cherishes whenever possible, forcing MJ to watch all kinds of weird cooking shows and home decorating stuff with him). 

He’d gotten better quickly but hadn’t recovered completely, and MJ made him take it slow, not letting him out of the house and making him bathe instead of shower. He wasn’t allowed to watch the news since it might tempt him to get back out there before he was ready, he wasn’t allowed to exercise at all, and was just generally forced to take it easy. Which was good, because just hours before he’d run off to fight Vulture, he still couldn’t sit up straight for too long without pain. 

But he’d gone, of course, and now he’s home with a deep cut in his chest from Vulture’s talons and a black eye, cut lip, and a huge bruise on his right side from being thrown into concrete. MJ had pursed her lips and helped him walk to the bathroom, not even wanting to say _I told you so_ a little bit. 

“We should have taken you to the hospital,” she says yet again, voice steely as she dabs at the cut in his chest, wiping away the white, soapy residue. 

“And tell them what?” Peter asks, grimacing. “I got clawed by a giant man-bird while the two of us were hanging out by the Brooklyn Bridge?”

Normally she would laugh, but now she just sighs with an angry huff. “What if you’ve cracked ribs?” MJ retorts. “I’m not a doctor, Peter, I can’t--”

“Even if I did I’d be _fine_ in a couple of days, Mary Jane, that’s part of the whole ‘superpowers’ deal--”

“Don’t you _dare_ mock me, Peter, that’s not fair, I’m just--”

“I know, but this is my _job_ , Mary Jane! It’s my responsibility. I don’t know what you expect me to do! This is what _happens_ to me!”

MJ throws the washcloth onto the sink and it makes a slapping sound against the ceramic that makes Peter flinch. She throws herself back against the opposite wall, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She’s just so _frustrated_ that she wants to scream, but she can’t, because _one_ of them has to be reasonable here. Tears sting behind her eyes and she takes a shuddering breath, letting it out slow and trying to blink them away before she has to look at Peter again. 

“Mary Jane,” he says, soft, but Mary Jane shakes her head from behind her hands. 

“Peter...” she replies, warning him. She almost wants to throw a hand out to keep him at arm’s length, but she can’t stop _shaking_ and she can’t--she _can’t_ \--

“Mary Jane,” he says again, imploring now but no louder than a whisper, and this time she feels his hand on her shoulder, warm and soothing, pulling her close. 

She gives in, winding her arms around his waist carefully, burying her face into his neck. _Gwen was better at this_ , she thinks with a pang, just to add insult to injury. MJ doesn’t actually know that for sure, but Gwen _would_ have been--patched Peter up with patience and care and just been thankful that he was alive instead of angry at the way he recklessly just _threw_ himself out there, like nothing else mattered...

Peter kisses the top of her head and pillows his cheek against it, rubbing a hand slow across her back, gentle. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, and MJ exhales. “I didn’t... I--I should have listened to you,” he admits, and MJ can’t help but nod against his chest, which makes him laugh and then wince. 

She pulls back, pushing him lightly, urging him to sit back up on the counter so she can finish what she started, picking up the washcloth again. “Peter,” she tries. “I wasn’t... I _care_ about you,” she explains, refusing to meet his eyes, already blushing at the way her voice shakes. “And I just--I’ve known you a long time, and I think I know your limits just as well as you do, now, and I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she explains, slow and deliberate, focusing on cleaning the cut. 

But of course, because he knows her just as well, he tips her chin up with two fingers to look at her, staring deep into her eyes, almost searching. She wonders if he somehow knows what she means even though she hasn’t said it, feels like she’s broadcasting it from within, almost. _I don’t want you to leave me_. _Be careful_ _for_ me _, even if that’s selfish._

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he murmurs, holding her face in both hands now, his own voice a little unsteady. “Mary Jane, I--”

“I _do_ though,” she says, tears welling up again, and this time she can’t stop them. “Peter, I can’t help it. I _love_ you.” It feels heavy, to say it now, because it's not a happy thing, at the moment. It's an _obstacle_ to him, in a way she's never wanted to be, and she _hates_ that. 

Peter shakes his head vehemently, not at her words but the tears streaming down her cheeks, like he can tell what she's thinking. "I know, Mary Jane," he says, words just as fierce. "I mean--I don't want to _make_ you worry about me."

And _there_ , that's all she wants from him. He brushes her tears away with his thumbs and she breathes out all in a rush, like she's been holding it in this whole time. "I won't, again," he promises, voice soft, and then presses his lips to hers. 

She kisses back, and when they pull away she can smile, even if it's a little watery, but it makes Peter smile too. "Does that mean you'll listen to me?" she can't help but add, teasing a little. 

Peter throws his head back and laughs, eyes going bright and crinkly. He gives her a very fond grin, smoothing her hair. "When I can," he promises with a nod, and she sighs playfully, still smiling. 

Sometimes you have to accept the best you can get at the moment. 

He twines their fingers together and kisses her knuckles, still smiling nonsensically before dropping his hold so MJ can finish her work. The air settles between them, relaxing in a way they can be comfortable, even _happy_ , despite the fact that the severity of the gash in Peter's chest means _at least_ another day on bedrest, mandated by MJ, and by the end of it he'll be absolutely stir-crazy, whining about having nothing to do. But at the moment, that doesn't seem so bad. 

Neither of them can sleep, after that, still too wound up with anxiety. So MJ helps Peter limp to the living room, and they both collapse on the couch in front of the television. He clicks on _You've Got Mail,_ one of MJ's favorites, and she leans on his chest and they watch in warm, easy silence, MJ's fingers lazily drawing spirals on his upper arm. 

She's exhausted, and is drifting off to sleep before long. Just before she's gone completely, she can feel Peter kiss her forehead and gently pry the remote out of her fingers, running his hand up and down her back in rhythmic circles. 

It's not the end of the discussion, or a permanent solution by _any_ means, but they both know where the other is coming from now, any maybe that's enough. 

At the very least, it's a start.


End file.
